The weeks of training had been building toward one crucial technique that would define Ippo's strategy against Miyata. After another intense mitt session, Kamogawa called Ippo over to explain the refined approach.
"Listen carefully," the coach said, his voice serious. "The technique we're developing isn't just about waiting and countering. It's about preventing Miyata from controlling the distance."
Ippo looked confused. "Preventing him from controlling distance?"
"Miyata's biggest advantage is that he can dictate when and where exchanges happen. He uses his reach and footwork to stay at the perfect range for his counters. So we're going to take that away from him with the dart and dash."
Kamogawa demonstrated with his hands, showing the in-and-out movement pattern.
"You dart in quickly—not to attack, but to disrupt his rhythm. When he tries to counter or create space, you dash in. Then when he's off-balance or frustrated, you dart in again with a real attack."
Through Yuto's memories, Ippo could feel the concept clicking. The technique wasn't about controlling distance himself—it was about making sure Miyata couldn't settle into his preferred fighting range.
"So I'm constantly disrupting his game plan," Ippo said, beginning to practice the footwork.
"Exactly. Miyata relies on precision and timing. If you can make him uncomfortable, force him to react instead of dictating, you level the playing field."po over to explain the refined approach.
"Listen carefully," the coach said, his voice serious. "The technique we're developing isn't just about waiting and countering. It's about movement—specifically, the dart and dash."
Ippo looked confused. "Dart and dash?"
"You dart in to get Miyata's attention, make him think you're committing to an attack. When he goes for the counter, you dash back out of range. Then, when he's recovering from his missed counter, you dash back in with the uppercut."
Kamogawa demonstrated with his hands, showing the in-and-out movement pattern.
"It's all about rhythm and timing. You control the distance, you control the fight."
"So I'm constantly disrupting his game plan," Ippo said, beginning to practice the footwork.
"Exactly. Miyata relies on precision and timing. If you can make him uncomfortable, force him to react instead of dictating, you level the playing field."
After several more days of practicing the dart and dash technique, Kamogawa made an announcement that excited Ippo more than he expected.
"Time to get you proper boxing shoes," the coach said. "You can't keep training in those beat-up sneakers."
The trip to Ōta Sports was Ippo's first real shopping experience for boxing equipment. The store was filled with gear he'd only seen in magazines—gloves, protective equipment, and rows upon rows of boxing shoes.
"These are expensive," Ippo said nervously, looking at the price tags.
"Good equipment is an investment," came a familiar voice from behind them.
Ippo turned to see Miyata approaching with his father, apparently having the same idea about shopping for gear.
"Miyata-kun," Ippo said with a slight bow.
"Shopping for shoes too?" Miyata asked. "Mind if I help? I know this place pretty well."
For the next thirty minutes, Miyata guided Ippo through the selection process with surprising patience and expertise.
"These are good for beginners," Miyata said, pointing to a mid-range pair. "Solid support, good grip on the canvas. Don't go too expensive for your first pair—you want to see how your feet develop first."
"Thank you," Ippo said gratefully. "I wouldn't have known where to start."
"No problem. We're going to be fighting each other soon anyway—I'd rather beat you when you're at your best."
As they completed their purchases, Ippo couldn't help but notice the easy interaction between Miyata and his father. They talked about boxing techniques, shared observations about other fighters, and clearly enjoyed each other's company.
Walking back toward the gym, Ippo found himself trailing slightly behind the father and son, listening to their conversation.
"That new uppercut technique you've been working on is looking sharp," Miyata's father was saying.
"Thanks, Dad. I've been trying to add more variety to my counter arsenal."
"Good thinking. Predictability is a boxer's worst enemy."
Watching them interact, Ippo felt a pang of something he couldn't quite identify. It wasn't jealousy exactly, but a deep longing for something he'd never had.
Through the template, Ippo could feel echoes of Yuto's memories—a police officer father who had taught his son about strength and protecting others. The warmth of having someone who understood your dreams and supported them unconditionally.
Ippo's own father had died when he was young, leaving only faded photographs and his mother's stories. He'd never had the chance to share his boxing journey with a father figure who understood the sport.
"You're quiet back there," Miyata's father said, noticing Ippo's thoughtful expression.
"Sorry," Ippo said, snapping back to the present. "I was just thinking about how nice it must be to have someone who understands boxing so well."
Miyata's father smiled kindly. "Your coach Kamogawa understands boxing better than most people alive. And from what I've seen, he's taken quite an interest in your development."
"It's not the same, though," Ippo said quietly.
Miyata looked back at him with a new understanding. "Your father...?"
"He died when I was little. I don't really remember him much."
There was a moment of silence as they continued walking.
"I'm sorry," Miyata said sincerely. "I didn't know."
"It's okay. My mom tells me stories about him, but..." Ippo trailed off.
As they reached the gym, Miyata's father pulled Ippo aside while his son went ahead.
"Can I tell you something about my boxing career?" the older man asked.
Ippo nodded eagerly.
"I was pretty good back in my day. Not world-class, but good enough to make a living at it. I had fast hands, good technique, and I thought I understood what boxing was all about."
He paused, watching his son through the gym window.
"But I never understood what real strength was until I became a father. Watching Ichiro develop, seeing him face challenges and overcome them—that taught me more about boxing than all my years in the ring."
"What do you mean?"
"Boxing isn't really about fighting other people. It's about fighting yourself—your fears, your limitations, your desire to give up when things get hard. Your father may not be here to guide you through that battle, but from what I've seen, you're fighting it with incredible courage."
Ippo felt his eyes growing moist. "Thank you for saying that."
"Besides," Miyata's father continued with a slight smile, "you've got Takamura, Kamogawa, and all the others at the gym. Boxing families aren't just about blood relations."
That evening, back at the gym, Miyata found Ippo working on his new dart and dash technique.
"How are the new shoes working out?" Miyata asked.
"Great! I can really feel the difference in my footwork."
"Good. You'll need every advantage you can get," Miyata said with a competitive grin.
As they both continued their training, Miyata began talking about his father's boxing career.
"He was known for his technical precision," Miyata explained between combinations. "Never the strongest puncher, but his timing was incredible. He could land three clean shots for every one his opponents managed."
"Is that where you learned your counter-punching?" Ippo asked.
"Partly. But I've developed my own style too. Dad always says that a boxer has to find his own path, even if he's following in someone else's footsteps."
Ippo found himself genuinely interested in the boxing history he was hearing. Through Yuto's template memories, he could appreciate the technical aspects of what Miyata was describing.
"Your father sounds like he was amazing," Ippo said.
"He was good, but he says you might have more raw potential than he ever did. That uppercut of yours... he thinks it could be really special with proper development."
The conversation continued as both fighters worked on their respective techniques, each preparing for their upcoming rematch in their own way.
As the evening wound down, Ippo realized that while he might not have the father-son boxing relationship that Miyata enjoyed, he was building something equally valuable—a chosen family of fighters who believed in his potential and wanted to see him succeed.